Orders
by bjxmas
Summary: Dean Winchester at fifteen. Dean's emotions were raging out of control: guilt, panic, shame, sheer terror. How could he tell Dad how badly he had screwed up? How he had been weak and let what he wanted dictate his actions? A soldier follows orders!
1. Superbro

_This was my very first story. It was inspired by Dean's phone call to Dad in Home and his reaction to Dad's phone call in Scarecrow. I simply had to figure out what would make this bold, confident hunter react so strongly to his dad's orders. _

_Dean is simply the most intriguing character I have ever seen, and JA perfectly reflects all the conflicting emotions and facets of his complex personality. Jensen is my muse; he inspires me to write and what inspiration it has turned out to be! So thanks to him, Kripke and his amazing creative team, and all the Winchesters and the actors who so expertly bring them to life for giving me this new passion of writing. What a ride it has been!_

Orders

_This story is dedicated to the most amazing brothers I know, my nephews, Zachary and Logan. _

Chapter One - Superbro

Dean was cooking scrambled eggs for breakfast, one of his specialties. He rarely burned them and with a little grated cheese on top, they usually came out better than some of the diners they ate at. Dad had been gone for four days on a hunt, and he was left in charge of the house and his little brother, Sammy, like he often was. It had been this way since he was eight or so, Dad would get a lead on an evil being and take off on a hunt. It had caused some problems in the past, and they actually had to move once when Child Protective Services started nosing around, but other than that inconvenience it had worked out well.

After the CPS incident Dad learned to appear more normal, make sure his sons were enrolled in school and wave to the neighbors when they were outside. He told everyone that asked he had a traveling job as a salesman; truth was hunting was his job.

Things were better now. Dean was fifteen, but he had a fake I. D. stating he was eighteen. He had a young face but he was tall and well built, and his I.D. was good enough to fool a cop, not that they would ever risk it. Dad had been training him in martial arts since he was ten, and he worked out every day in their makeshift weight room to get even stronger, better prepared for the job he was being groomed for. He'd been raised by his military father as a soldier and he carried his body with authority, tall and proud. He had the aura and confidence of a much older man, experience belying his age.

He'd not had time to be a child since his mother was tragically and mysteriously murdered when he was just four years old. The pain from seeing what happened to her, and how it affected his dad and little brother still lingered, forever reminding him of the dangers in his life. Shortly after her death he'd sworn he would do anything to protect his family, particularly his little brother Sammy. No one had to tell him, he simply knew and took on the responsibility. It was his purpose in life, _his job._

His entire life was tainted with the knowledge his dad made clear, that evil lurked everywhere and they were fighting a war. Dad was the officer, and Dean and Sam were his soldiers. The Chain of Command would keep them safe. If Dad gave an order, they needed to follow it completely; any hesitation could result in disaster. A soldier doesn't question his superior, he follows orders. Dean had always been a good soldier.

Dean started weapons training as soon as he could hold a gun and he had a natural talent with weapons. He was six the first time he fired a gun and he bulls-eyed the target with all six shots. Granted the target wasn't that far away, but he'd seen how impressed his dad was with his abilities and it made him proud.

He knew his dad at times felt overwhelmed with grief from losing his wife and the responsibility of caring for two young sons while carrying on his war with all things evil, and Dean only wanted to help ease that burden. He was determined to prove he was able and willing to help, doing whatever was required as second in command.

While other kids wanted to play sports or video games, Dean knew he needed to be athletic and quick-witted, but the game he was being groomed for had much higher stakes than who would be state champs or what level of play he would reach in a stupid video game.

He attended school sporadically when he could, when it didn't conflict with his other responsibilities; not like his little brother who rarely missed a day. Sam loved school and got excellent grades, a regular Einstein much to big brother's delight as he relentlessly teased him. Dean was plenty smart himself; he had to be to pass his classes when he missed so often, but he had more important things to do with his time. Any time Dad wanted Dean to join him on a hunt he was more than willing to skip school. Sam was four years younger, so Dad didn't want him on his hunts yet, still too dangerous for the kid.

Ever since he picked up a pool cue and sunk his first ball, John had tutored Dean in how to earn money the Winchester way. After all, hunting would never be a pro-ball career and ammo didn't come cheap. Under his dad's tutelage he learned how to measure a man and anticipate his actions so he could hustle pool like a pro and rake in his winning at poker without causing a scene. His life lessons continued with how to forge an I.D. and fraudulently obtain a credit card. Dean was good at it all, quickly learning how to make a buck and survive. He most enjoyed the pool hustling and the poker. He looked like an easy mark himself because of his youth, but he'd spent more time in sleazy pool halls and dark poker rooms than most of the marks he ended up fleecing.

As far as hunting and the lifestyle to sustain it, Sam did what he had to do to appease Dad, but his heart was never in it. Truth was, between Dad and Dean, they got enough money from their scams to live on and continue their hunts and Sam being younger wasn't really needed. He was exposed to the lifestyle, but he never had to fully participate, always on the outside looking in at the strange life his family led, still able to go to school and be a normal kid. Dean saw to it.

"Sam, get your butt out of bed. Get movin' and eat your eggs or you'll be late for school."

Sam bounded down the stairs, the noise thundering through the small rental house.

"I'm ready. You gonna come watch my soccer game after school?" he asked as he grabbed a plate and scooped some eggs up before plopping down on the chair at the counter and starting to eat.

Dean offered him a quirk of his brows and his patented smirk. "I dunno, professor. You gonna win?"

"Dunno. Just hope I get to play. The coach doesn't like it that I don't make all the practices and games."

Dean's voice was weary, resigned and casual, "Look, Sammy, that's just the way it is. I get you to as many as I can. You know Dad don't approve and we have to fly under the radar on this."

"Yeah, I know." Between mouthfuls Sam looked up and questioned, "You know when Dad's coming home?"

Dean was eating his eggs straight out of the skillet as he stood with his long legs crossed and his back against the counter. "He'll be back when the job's done. Don't worry, he can take care of himself and I got the home front covered."

"I know you do." Sam offered a huge grin. "The best big bro anyone could ask for."

"Damn straight. Superbro! And don't you forget it!"

"So you going to school today? You keep missing and you may not graduate. They have a set number of days you need to attend."

Dean finished picking at the remains of the eggs in the pan before setting it in the sink. "No need for you to worry about me. I don't need book learning anyway. Dad's taught me everything I need to know to survive in the world."

Sam looked up with serious eyes, his mouth twisted in a half-frown as he earnestly asked, "Dean, don't you ever dream of living a normal life?"

"No," he quickly responded with a twinge of barely concealed anger, no need to think, still tensing every time his kid brother brought it up, which seemed to be more and more often lately. "_This_ is my life." His smile then reappeared as he grabbed his truck keys and stood by the door. "Finish your eggs. Don't want the _professor_ to be late for school." With another huge grin he kidded, "You taught your teachers anything new this week?"


	2. Soccer

Chapter Two – Soccer

Dean got in the old, beat-up Chevy pick-up truck and started the engine. The Winchester's acquired it when they vanquished its previous owner after he went all zombie on them. The dead dude had no kin, so they figured they might as well make use of it. Dean had been driving illegally for a couple of years, and he needed wheels to chauffeur Sam around when Dad wasn't home. A quick forging of the pink slip and a change in the registration and Dean was set.

Sam jumped in and Dean peeled out into the street. It wasn't cool like Dad's 67 Impala, but his dad and he had made some improvements, and he was one of the lucky kids his age to have his own ride.

"Sam, you got money for lunch?"

"Yeah, but the coach is selling soccer jerseys and they're really cool."

"Soccer boy, huh? Gotta dress the part? How much ya need?"

Sam squirmed a little in his seat. "They're kinda expensive."

"How much?" Dean repeated, his eyes studying his kid brother with amusement.

"Twenty-five."

"Twenty-five!" he exclaimed. "To look like a jock?"

Dean slowed down and pulled into the school parking lot. It really wasn't far; in fact Sam had walked on occasion. Dad just always preferred Dean drive him. Dean preferred it too: safer. He reached for his wallet, pulled out his last thirty dollars and handed the bills to Sam. _Well, that solves that little dilemma, work or school? Guess work wins out. Gotta bring home the bacon!_

Sam beamed as he folded over the money and stashed it in his pocket. "Thanks." He jumped out of the truck and slammed the door.

"See ya at four for the big game," Dean yelled after him. "Tell the coach he either plays you or your big brother will pull a Vito Corleone on him."

Sam offered a grin and a wave before turning and walking down the pavement towards the school.

Dean steered the truck out of the parking lot, accelerated past the high school down the block and toward the heart of town. He figured there should be a few unlucky fellows down at the pool hall eager to surrender their money. Two or three hours and he could be set for the next week or two.

Unlike a lot of the poor souls he observed around town, Dean liked his work. He enjoyed pool halls and backrooms. It was what he was used to, where he grew up. It felt comfortable. He understood the people who populated those places, he could read them.

Normal people were the ones who baffled him. Why would someone want to spend all their life in an office working nine to five? Simply existing in a mundane, ordinary life? A slave to a time clock? A life like that would bore him to death. Granted, his life might kill him at a young age, but it was sure a hell of a lot more exciting!

He parked at the back door of the local pool hall and slipped inside. He immediately sized up a couple of potentials and turned on the charm.

"Howdy, fellas, you up for a little game of pool? I've been trying to get my dad to buy me a pool table so I can practice, but he thinks I should stick with chess: less need for that hand - eye coordination stuff."

These bozo college kids always fell for the dumb kid routine. His strategy was always the same, let them win a game or two and escalate the wager until they were betting their rent money. It was almost too easy… and they were the ones going to college?

Two hours earned him three hundred dollars and he thought that was a pretty good return on his time, definitely more productive than going to school. Dean opened his wallet and placed the bills inside with a satisfied smirk.

"Thanks for the lesson, guys. You must be super teachers, or maybe it was just beginner's luck. Well, anytime you want to show me a new trick just give me a call." He laid on all his charm, smiling sincerely the entire time. "What'd you say you were studying at school? Psychology? Huh, bet you're a master at that!"

It was now well past noon. My how time flies when you're enjoying yourself he mused. He was beginning to get hungry so he swung by his favorite diner.

"Hey, Dean, missed you last week. Where ya been?" June was a feisty waitress who liked to flirt with him. She'd been a real looker in her day. She was still pretty, with piercing olive eyes and soft, auburn hair, but life and all its trials had worn the softness from her face. She offered him a huge smile and a wink. "If you were a couple of years older I'd have to stake my claim to you, you handsome fella!"

Dean returned the smile with a sly wink of his own. "June, you know that would make my day. I don't see your problem with the age difference. I'm man enough for you. Afraid you can't keep up?"

June laughed a deep raucous laugh. Dean couldn't tell how old she was, probably in her forties, maybe younger. She'd lived a hard life but she still found joy in life. Dean liked her. She was one of the few females present in his life, and when he needed a female perspective, he would come down and see June. He'd known her for over a year, ever since they first moved to town. In the beginning, it looked like she had an interest in his father. John liked her, but somehow he still felt married after all these years; the man still wore his wedding band, never taking it off. Dean didn't think he'd ever get over losing Mom, and he understood because he felt the same way.

His favorite booth was open so he slid in and ordered a cheeseburger and a beer. June laughed at his game and brought him a cola which he accepted with a slight huff. She sat with him on her break and they had a nice conversation, nothing important or deep, just friends casually enjoying each other's company. He liked talking to her, it was easy. She sincerely laughed at all his jokes and told him he was handsome and bright and clever. He almost believed it when she said it, her being the honest sort averse to lying. Something in her eyes and how she treated him made him want to believe that he _was_ all the things she said he was.

He sometimes wondered if this is what it would be like to have a mom around. He didn't dwell on the thought, didn't really see her as the motherly type, especially since they were always flirting with each other, but the tone of her voice and the concern in her eyes made him feel good in her company.

He hung around downtown for a few more hours, and then he headed over to Sam's soccer game. Since the middle school didn't have any fields they played at the high school next door. He arrived just before the game started and made his way into the stands, sitting near the middle of the field, all the way to the top so he could lean back against the chain link enclosure.

"Missed you in Algebra today, Dean Winchester."

The voice startled him and when he looked up it was Stacy Wheaton smiling at him. She was a transfer student this year. She was strikingly pretty with large, expressive eyes and a smile that could light up the sky. Her long blond hair fell in loose waves just below her shoulders. Dean had definitely noticed her before, but she was way out of his league. She was smart and athletic, and was a star on the girl's soccer team. He'd never spoken more than a soft 'hi' to her in passing in the three months since she'd moved here. Since he rarely went to class, he'd not had much opportunity. It shocked him that she even knew his name.

"Yeah? Well I had more pressing plans for my day."

"You miss a lot of school. Don't you like school? Or are you just a rebel without a cause?"

He smiled. He had a cause; he just couldn't explain it to Stacy. She was sassy and he liked that. She also knew her film references, and he liked that too.

"Oh, I got a cause, but if I told you I'd have to kill you."

Now it was her turn to smile.

Dean had always found it difficult talking to kids his own age, especially girls. He was good at talking to adults; he had lots of experience with that. He learned at a young age to weave a tale that any adult would believe; whether it was explaining away his father's absence or coercing information from a lead.

Girls were another matter. Barmaids and waitresses at the dives his father took him to all indicated what a handsome and desirable young man he was. June wasn't the first woman to flirt with him, but he still felt shy and tongue-tied around regular girls his own age. He could banter and flirt with older women because that was a game, a role he played to get information. He knew it wasn't real and would never amount to anything.

"So, you a big soccer fan? Why don't you play sports? You look like you could handle it," Stacy inquired with the undertone of a challenge.

"Don't really have time for sports. Remember? Those pressing plans? They keep me pretty busy." Dean smirked and relaxed just a little before relenting and offering a genuine answer as he nodded toward the field. "My kid brother's playing."

"Really?" She genuinely seemed interested as she sat down beside him observing the field. "Which one is he?"

"The one on the bench," Dean drolly replied. "Number 14. Guess I'm gonna have to make that coach an offer he can't refuse."

Stacy smiled again.

A sly smirk emerged on his face as he wondered if she actually found him clever and smart. He had no real experience in gauging how well this was going. Since he rarely went to class, he had few school friends: well, none actually. It had become apparent to him when he was still a child that it was better to keep your distance from people than deal with all their questions. He couldn't exactly invite casual acquaintances over to the house, and he'd never let anyone get close enough to become more. It was too dangerous to the family, what if they opened a drawer or closet and discovered the armory in his home? How exactly would they explain that away?

Besides, he didn't associate with kids his own age, precisely because that's just what they were… _kids_. He had nothing in common with them and he really couldn't relate to them. On the rare occasions when he was drawn into conversations with some of them, it blew his mind how oblivious they were. They worried about borrowing the car from their folks, or who was dating who, and if the football team would win on Friday night; all stuff that in the grand scheme of things didn't mean squat.

How could they understand the evil that exists in this world? How could they possibly comprehend _his _life? How he'd torched his first evil remains when he was eleven and participated in his first exorcism at twelve. And yeah, they would _really_ want to know about the first evil entity he'd destroyed, or the second or third. He was beginning to think he was foolish to even be trying to talk to Stacy, yet something about her intrigued him; he thought maybe she was different. He didn't know what it was, but he liked her.

"Your brother's lucky to have his own private goon to rough up his enemies."

"Y' think?"

"Yeah, I do." She smiled then, warm and sincere, her eyes looking into his like she really saw him before she broke the connection and glanced away, appearing just the tiniest bit shy. "I wish I had a protector like that."

Dean smiled and quirked his head, his eyes glimmering as he watched her. "I bet there are lots of guys at school that would trip all over themselves to be your protector."

"Maybe," she honestly replied. "I just don't feel like I belong there, y' know? I guess I still feel like an outsider. Everyone is nice enough… I guess it's just me. I don't fit."

His eyes studied her, wondering what she saw when she looked in the mirror because she sure seemed to fit to him. He thought she fit just fine. "Why would you say that? You look pretty normal to me. What's so different about you? Why wouldn't you fit?"

"Army brat. Been all around the world with my dad. I've seen a lot of stuff that kids just don't get." She turned and looked deep into his eyes, intent and serious, so not like the high school girls he'd known. "There's a lot of bad things going on in this world, Dean, and kids here just think about high school stuff. I don't want to put anyone down… I guess I just see things differently. Dad's an army doctor and we've been helping out in some of the worse off countries you can think of. Kind of changes your perspective."

Dean's eyes flickered in understanding. "Yeah, I see what you mean. So, just you and your dad?"

"Yeah, Mom died when I was little, so it's just Dad and me."

Dean felt an instant connection to her. Maybe there were kids out there that he could relate to. Probably not too many that were into the whole chasing evil and vanquishing demons scene, but heck, this was kinda close. At least she knew there were larger problems in the world than how school went that day. And she'd lost her mom too.

"So, Dean. What's your story?"

"What?" he blurted out, her insight and directness catching him off-guard.

She smiled as she observed him, her eyes narrowing to take him in. "I don't know, haven't quite figured you out, but I kind of feel a connection to you. Somehow I feel like there's more to you than meets the eye." Her eyes were a brilliant blue and he almost felt himself getting lost in her gaze, wondering what that would be like. She continued on with a slight smile. "Maybe that's it. You have really beautiful eyes, yet there's a darkness there… kind of a sadness. I always get the feeling there's something really deep going on with you. You just seem more worldly than the other boys in class."

Dean knew he couldn't tell her the truth, she'd never be ready for that, but all of a sudden he realized he was talking to her like he talked to adults. She wasn't just a high school girl; she'd seen the world and knew it wasn't all pretty and perfect. Maybe this was a girl his age he could talk to, so he did.

Probably it was a good thing Sam got into the game for only ten minutes. They stopped talking and watched him as he ran around the field, almost making a goal before he was benched again as the starter took back his position. As soon as he was safely back with the reserves, Dean resumed his chat with Stacy. The shocking thing was he felt comfortable talking with her, all worry over what to say and how to say it disappearing as he relaxed into a real conversation. They talked for almost two hours. They continued talking even after the game was over and weren't interrupted until Sam came up. Dean introduced his brother to Stacy, and then it was Sam's turn to be tongue-tied. He kept staring at Dean and then at Stacy. He'd never seen his brother like this. He could tell he liked this girl.


	3. Date Night

Chapter Three – Date Night

John called home to check in just after six the next morning. The Winchesters were early risers so he knew his boys would be up, ready to start their day. Evil never slept. There was always training and work to be done, even on a Saturday. Dean answered the phone on the second ring.

"Dad, you heading home?"

"Dean, I'm tying up some loose ends. I wanted to be home before tonight but it looks like I won't make it until tomorrow."

Tonight was Halloween. The Winchester brothers had never been trick or treating and had never attended a Halloween party. Dad always wanted them home, protected on that day. Safety precluded any pursuit of standard Halloween fun. Dad hated Halloween, evil came out in full force.

"How's Sam? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine, Dad. Don't worry. I've got it covered."

John's voice sounded rough and weary, his concern not lost on his son. "Dean, I hate not making it home tonight. I need you to keep Sam safe. Make sure you're in before dark and use the cats-eye shells and salt to protect yourselves. I'll be there as soon as I can. Be careful, Dean."

"Sure, Dad."

Dean understood what his father wouldn't say, what he never said. Dad would be home before the anniversary of Mom's death on November 2nd. His dad never talked about it, and Dean never brought it up, but he always made a point of being with his sons on that date.

The first time Dean secretly read his dad's journal he was barely seven. His dad started the journal after Mom died, and Dean would watch him late at night making entries. He always wondered what he wrote down, his face so tense and sad as he scrawled details that Dean wasn't privy to, so it was too much of a temptation to not look when the opportunity finally arose. Along with all the details of his hunts, John told of feeling an evil presence stalking his family. He always felt the danger was greatest around that date. Dean was well aware of his concerns, but he never passed that concern along to Sam, instead reassuring his kid brother that they were fine and safe, never admitting to any doubts of his own. Holding firm to the notion that Dad was a superhero, and nothing would ever hurt them, Dad wouldn't allow it.

Sam was coming down the stairs, not as enthusiastic as the day before since this wasn't a school day and he knew what the day promised. While a Saturday for most kids meant fun and relaxation, for the Winchesters it meant training and drills, even with Dad gone. Dean was always ready to pick up the slack and enforce the rules, much to the annoyance of his kid brother.

"That Dad? He coming home?" Sam asked.

"He's still workin' the job. He'll be back tomorrow."

Sam didn't look disappointed, instead his lips turned up in a sly grin.

"Dean, can we do something for Halloween?" Sam pleaded; his eyes wide at the prospect, a chance to break out of the norm and do something totally unexpected, something fun.

"Yeah, right! You know how Dad feels about that," Dean scoffed, quickly dismissing the thought.

Sam, of course, was not the sort to let an idea die so quickly. "He doesn't want me playing soccer either."

"That's different. Dad want's us home and the house secured," Dean responded as expected, but then he looked in his brother's eyes and it didn't take long for him to succumb to the puppy-dog look. He gave a half-smile of his own and offered him a compromise. "I tell ya what; I'll take you to the diner for an early supper. June was asking about you."

Later - around 4:00 P.M. At the diner

June was fussing over Sam, running her fingers through his long hair, and when her touch brought out his dimples, teasing him about the pits in his cheeks.

"Dean, you're going to have some competition in the looks department. Sam is turning into a fine young man. You know, I think he's going to be even taller than you."

Dean huffed at that and quirked his mouth in response. "June… never happen. Remember, he's my _little_ brother."

"So, boys, what're you doing for Halloween?"

"Just gonna have a meal at our favorite hangout and then its home to watch movies," Dean replied.

"No Halloween parties? You know the carnival just set up on the outskirts of town. With your dad away, I'd think you boys would want to kick up your heels and have a little fun."

"I wanted to, but Dean's too responsible," Sam moaned.

"Enough, Sam," Dean responded in a terse voice.

The tension only lasted a moment before Dean continued, able to turn on a dime and recapture an easy air.

"What do you want to eat? Huh? Anything you want." He laughed as he emphasized the last point. "College boys are buying!"

They ordered the special, pot roast with home style mashed potatoes and green beans, fresh pumpkin pie for dessert, and two large milk shakes. Unlike most teenagers who craved burgers and fries, the Winchester boys desired good old-fashioned home cooking on special occasions. Neither Dean or Dad were accomplished cooks. Dean tried to cook nutritious meals on occasion for Sam, but his specialties were somewhat limited. They got enough burgers and fries at fast food joints; Dad always pushed them to eat down-home cooking when the opportunity arose for a sit-down meal.

The food was good here and cheap. The place wasn't very busy so June sat and chatted with them while they ate. It almost felt like a normal family outing. They were talking and laughing until Dean looked up and was startled to see Stacy walk in and go to the counter. June immediately picked up on his reaction.

"She's picking up a take-out order. She's a little early. It'll be five or ten minutes until its ready," she informed them as she slid out of the booth.

June walked over to Stacy, exchanged a few words and went back into the kitchen. Sam smiled at the look on his brother's face, grinning like a cartoon hyena in a Disney flick.

"Go ahead. Go talk to her."

"What?" Dean gasped out.

"C'mon, Dean. Don't be a jerk. Go talk to her."

Dean still didn't quite know what to make of these feelings. This really couldn't go anywhere, so why bother? But something compelled him and he slid out of the booth and casually strolled over to the counter.

"Funny seeing you here," he commented in a low voice.

Stacy smiled a broad, welcoming smile when she turned and saw him standing there. He relaxed a little. She sure looked happy to see him.

"Hey, Dean. What're you up to?"

"Just having supper with my brother."

"Really? That's nice."

Stacy looked over at the booth and waved to Sam. There was an awkward pause then, Dean simply standing there and Stacy waiting for him to say something more, wondering where the ease of their conversation from the afternoon had gone.

Dean felt nervous and unsure. He didn't like Sam watching him, pushing him to approach Stacy and now that he was here, he wondered why he didn't just stay in the booth, back where it was safe, hidden from sight. He was trying to think of something clever to say to break the ice again, but all that came to mind were lame pickup lines he'd use to flirt with the older women he felt much more comfortable approaching. Somehow he didn't think Stacy would appreciate being treated like an easy pickup. And for some unknown reason, he didn't want to treat her that way.

Thankfully she took the initiative. "So, you guys have plans for tonight? Did you hear the carnival is open just outside town?"

He cleared his throat and responded, casual-like, finding his footing again. "Yeah, I heard somethin' about that. You going?"

"No. No plans to. I've never been to a carnival though; I bet it'd be fun. I'm just picking up dinner for my dad. Y' know, quiet night at home."

"I've never been to a carnival either. Might be fun. If you wanted to, we could go."

The words came out before they even registered in Dean's brain. Why did he say that? He couldn't take Stacy to the carnival, not tonight… _especially not tonight._

"I'd love to go with you." Stacy was beaming, her joy embracing her face, those blue eyes brilliant with a vibrant wide smile.

What had he done? He couldn't leave Sam tonight. He couldn't go to the carnival with Stacy. What was he thinking? Stacy looked so happy and excited. How could he disappoint her now? He _knew_ it was wrong, but just this once he wanted to do what he wanted.

As if on cue, June came out of the kitchen then with the take-out bag and gave Dean a wink.

"So, big date tonight, huh?"

"Um, I.., I.., Stacy.., I forgot I have to watch Sam tonight," Dean stammered.

He was torn. He wanted to follow orders and do his duty, but he also wanted to go on this date.

June saw the conflict on Dean's face. She knew little of the Winchester's secrets, but she did know Dean was always so mature and responsible. He deserved a little fun, especially since it was so clear he wanted it, but something was pulling him away, pushing him to deny it. She took the initiative to save him from himself.

"Don't worry, Dean. Sam can stay here with me. We'll be fine."

June _had _watched Sam before when John took Dean on hunts. This wouldn't be the first time. Dad had trusted June with Sam, what could be the harm? The internal war waged on. This was different though, this was Halloween.

Sam had been listening in on his brother's conversation and decided now was the time to act. He jumped out of the booth and hurried over to the counter.

"I'll be fine with June. You and Stacy go have fun at the carnival."

Dean still hesitated, torn and unsure what to do, his dad's voice loud in his head, his duty clear.

He looked into Stacy's eyes and his heart surged, his voice followed and he still wasn't thinking, simply reacting. "You sure, Sammy? You know Dad… "

Sam cut him off.

"Go. I'll be fine. _Really,_ Dean. I want you to."

A smile slowly spread across Dean's face and before he consciously made the decision, it was done.

"Okay. I guess that's settled."

Stacy was beaming again.

"I just need to take this food to my dad. I can be ready in a half hour. Here's my address." She jotted down her address and handed the slip to Dean.

He held it up and read the address before folding it and placing it in his jean's pocket. "Okay then, see you soon."

Stacy picked up her food and practically waltzed out of the diner, giggling as she almost ran into the door.

Sam was glad Dean was going to the carnival with Stacy. His brother was almost acting like a normal teenager. _Almost…_ As much as Dean protested he never wanted a normal life, it was nice to see him relax and attempt it for once.

"June, I'll be back to pick up Sam by midnight when you close up. Thanks for watching him."

He nodded to his brother and was half-way out the door as she called after him, "Don't worry if you're a little late. Sam can help me clean up. Just go have yourself some fun."


	4. Carnival

Chapter Four - Carnival

Dean couldn't remember ever having this much pure, simple, innocent fun. He and Sam would goof around sometimes, but they never had much time for it. There was always training and work to be done. The world was a dangerous and deadly place, and his life reflected that. He enjoyed hunting evil; he even considered that to be fun, but this was different. This was frivolous fun, and Stacy was showing him another side of life, one he'd never before seen the appeal of. He'd never laughed so hard and he found he couldn't stop grinning.

They rode all the rides and took in several side shows. Stacy was shocked at some of the freaks in the tents off the midway: the fish man and the bearded woman, the man tattooed over his entire body with a complete set of piercings in addition, and the midget woman who was full-grown and the size of a two year old. Dean wasn't overly impressed; he'd seen more interesting creatures in his work. All of these folk were either made up to look like something, or just genetic freaks that nature had played a cruel joke on. They were simply people trying to make a living. They just looked different from normal folk. When he looked into their eyes, he felt a kinship with them. He knew what if felt like to be different, misunderstood, ostracized. He sometimes felt like a freak himself.

For one night he put his lifestyle aside and was just a teenager on a date with a pretty girl. His weapons training came in handy when he went to the shooting gallery, and Stacy seemed quite impressed with his skill with a gun; little did she know he was an expert with most weaponry. The rifle pulled to the right, but he soon compensated; bulls-eyeing the target and winning Stacy a giant purple dog.

She hugged the hideous stuffed animal and with a laugh announced his name was Maxwell, as in Maxwell's Silver Hammer; which made Dean chuckle at how her mind worked, another common bond and he playfully considered if he could pass the name off on Sammy when he made his next fake I.D. Even as he looked upon her in total disbelief, she announced she loved Maxwell, in spite of Dean proclaiming it the ugliest thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

"That's why I love him, Dean… He needs me. I think he's perfect!"

His lips turned up in a sweet smile that radiated up and embraced his eyes, his entire being basking in the love embracing the dog and rippling out in waves that enveloped him with tender feelings. Stacy made him _feel good… _that's all there was to it.

After a fun-filled evening the carnival was getting ready to close down and they had time for one more ride.

"Oh, Dean, let's ride the Ferris wheel again," she exclaimed as she took his hand and pulled him toward the attraction.

They squeezed into the seat with the purple dog sitting on the end next to Stacy. It was a tight fit with the three of them, but Dean hardly complained, he liked having Stacy pressed up against him.

"I've had a great time tonight, Dean. I'm so glad we came." Stacy hesitated before she added in a rush, "I really like you."

Dean paused and gazed into her eyes, his heart fluttering as a shy smile drew up his lips. His voice was soft, barely there, as he sincerely replied, "I like you too." She snuggled closer to him as the ride jerked and started and he wrapped his arm around her and added, "I don't remember _ever _having this much fun."

The stars were bright at the top arch of the Ferris wheel, and as it languidly went around you could see the entire carnival and the last of the customers milling about. When the ride was over, it was a slow process unloading the riders and Dean and Stacy just happened to be in the last car unloaded. As they slowly climbed back into the sky for their final descent, Stacy looked into Dean's eyes, moved closer and kissed him. A soft, sweet, tender kiss. Dean kissed her back.

This was his first real kiss, not like any of the other kisses he'd shared before. Over the last year or so, he'd kissed several of those older women who found him so attractive. They were experienced and said they could show him a thing or two and they had. He was grateful for the training, but this was different, this was a special kiss. This was a kiss with a girl he really liked. He wanted this kiss to last forever and for a moment, he was lost in this kiss.

"That's it, kids. Rides over. Carnival is closing down."

He opened his eyes and was faced with a butt-ugly carnie undoing the latch across their seat and motioning them to exit. Dean took Stacy's hand and helped her off the ride. This had been a perfect evening, one he would never forget and he didn't want it to end, but he knew he needed to pick up Sam. They were the last customers out the front gates as the carnival closed up shop. He held her hand as they walked through the parking lot to his truck, the night air bringing on a slight chill and she leaned into his warmth. He was immersed in such total bliss he never sensed the evil stalking them.

He felt a presence emerge behind him just as a swift blow sent him sprawling to the pavement. He tucked and rolled, trying to protect his head and hands. His shoulder hit the ground hard, but at least he wasn't knocked out. Stacy screamed as the vampire grabbed her and almost flew toward the woods. Dean was stunned, but he stumbled to his feet and ran to his truck. He fumbled for his keys, unlocked the door and pulled down the back of the seat to reveal a bag of weapons. He ransacked the weapons cache, quickly grabbing a wooden stake and running full-out towards Stacy's screams.

This bloodsucker had picked on the wrong couple. Dean's heart was racing as he barreled into the woods. He was a protector of innocents, but this was personal; he'd be damned if he'd let anything happen to this girl. The vampire was just about to sink its teeth into Stacy's neck when Dean arrived and plunged the stake into the creature's back and the stupid, freakin' devil disintegrated in a cloud of dust. Stacy's eyes were filled with terror and confusion at what had just happened, the entire scene beyond her comprehension.

"What was that? How'd you do that?" she stammered as she stood there physically shaking.

Dean knew he couldn't explain everything to Stacy, but obviously he had to try and explain this.

After he calmed her down enough to listen he answered her as best he could, "Well, you know that new show on TV? That Buffy show? It's not exactly fiction." He arched his brow as he matter-of-factly added, "Vampires are real."

"How can that be? How do you know this stuff?" she exclaimed.

"I just do." He tilted his head and quirked his lips as he tried to offer a comforting smile. "You were the one who said I seemed more worldly than the other kids. Guess now you know why."

Stacy couldn't stop shaking. Dean wrapped his arm around her and walked her back to the truck, his eyes now constantly watching the quiet of the night surrounding them.

"We need to get moving. Where there's one, there's gonna be more. We need to get inside."

They drove back to her house in silence. With the evening ending on a rather low note, he wondered if she'd ever want to see him again.

"You'll be safe once you're inside your house. Just don't invite any strangers in. There's some wrong info in that Buffy show, but that part's true. Vampires can't come in until you invite them."

She looked up and stared into his eyes, her face a mask, pale and stretched thin from worry, while her thoughts remained a mystery. "Dean, I don't know what to make of all this, but I do know you saved my life tonight. Thank you."

She leaned in and kissed him again, a solemn, quiet moment between them. She was still trembling from her ordeal, but the kiss told Dean there might still be hope for them.


	5. Diner

Chapter Five - Diner

Sam liked spending time at the diner and helping out. June was a lot of fun. She had a riotous sense of humor and always seemed to have a good time whatever she was doing. He would have liked to have gone to the carnival too, but he knew this was one time he wasn't welcome. He was glad he could help his brother have this evening. Dean certainly deserved it.

He really hoped Dean was enjoying his date with Stacy, a rare time to let loose and have fun. It was just so odd to see his brother like this. Dean always flirted with waitresses and older girls at bars, but he'd never shown any interest in girls his own age. He always said they were too immature. Sam figured Stacy must be pretty special to get his brother's attention.

Dean was an awesome big brother, the best ever. He was always looking out for Sam, like letting him play soccer. In a lot of ways, Dean was more like a father to him than Dad ever was. He was definitely around more; he'd been there through it all, most noticeably when Dad wasn't. Dad would never approve of Dean going on this date tonight and this was the only time in his life Sam could ever remember Dean disobeying their dad's orders. He'd never understood his dad's hold over his big brother.

Dean was confident and strong. He stood up to anyone, even if they were more powerful or imposing, fearless in any situation or crisis. The only time Dean was ever subordinate was with Dad, always falling into line as Dad's obedient toy soldier. He always said he was just being a good son and when he got riled up he'd suggest that maybe Sam should try it some time.

Sam had a habit of not doing what Dad wanted, and his father often voiced his disapproval of his poor attitude. Sam hated the rigorous training and drills John put them through. He just wanted to be normal. He missed having a mom, but he didn't even remember her since he was only a baby when she died. If it wasn't for a few photos and the stories Dad sometimes told, he wouldn't even know his mom. He never felt connected to his dad's vendetta, viewing it more as an abstract concept, while Dean embraced his role in Dad's private war.

"So how long has Dean known this girl?"

Sam looked up from the table he was wiping down and shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno. I guess she's in his math class. I don't think they really talked much until my soccer game yesterday. They seemed to hit it off."

"Oh, so you're the matchmaker!" she teased with a laugh.

"I just want Dean to have some fun."

"Me too! How old is Dean now? Fifteen? Sixteen?"

"He'll be sixteen in two weeks."

She smiled at that. "Ah, sweet sixteen and never been kissed? Think that'll last?" June laughed again.

Sam didn't want to break it to her, but he knew that record had already been shattered, probably some time back. He'd seen Dean in one of the back booths at a bar this summer getting friendly with one of the barmaids. Dean always was popular with the girls, but he didn't seem to understand why. He had complete confidence fighting evil beings or hustling pool or cards when Dad allowed him, but he always seemed a little awkward in social situations.

June was casually talking, more to herself than anything. "Maybe we'll close up early tonight. I don't think we're going to have any more customers. Everybody has better things to do on Halloween."

It was just after 11:30 and the last customers had paid their bill at the register and left. June went into the kitchen to confer with the cook and when she reappeared she went to the front door and locked it, turning the sign around to say closed.

"After we get this place all cleaned up, you and I can take a break and have a nice chat until your brother picks you up." With another smile and a wink she added, "Think he'll tell us all about his big date?"

"Dean usually tells me everything, but I dunno. I think this might be different."

"Well, I'm just glad we convinced him to go. I don't know what that boy was thinking. I thought he was gonna cancel there for a moment."

"Yeah, thanks for helping out June. I think Dean really likes Stacy and he deserves this."

"I'll second that! Here, take these in the back for me and we'll be done."

It was almost midnight when they finished cleaning up the dining area, and the cook in the back kitchen was almost done too and ready to leave. June had just sat down in the booth with Sam to have that talk, when there was a knock at the diner door and she got back up and walked over to the door to find three men standing outside.

"Sorry, we're closed."

"Look, real sorry to bother you, but my friend here really needs a bathroom. No one seems to be open. Can we just come in to use the john?" The stranger appeared friendly and sincere and the request was reasonable, so June unlocked the door and held it open for them.

"Okay, boys. Just don't take too long. We're getting ready to go home. Bathroom's in the back."

She turned her attention back to Sam.

"Now, Samuel Winchester, when do you think that brother of yours will show up?" June said in a teasing voice.

The men had been surveying the diner as they casually strolled in, but they stopped when she spoke and turned to stare at Sam. They appeared to be sizing him up, dark eyes tunneling straight through him.

"Hey, kid, your name Winchester?"

An uneasy feeling settled in Sam's stomach and he nervously shifted under their penetrating gaze. Something was wrong here… _really wrong._ He didn't know what, but he knew he didn't like the looks of these guys. He really wished Dean would get back… _right now._


	6. Meltdown

Chapter Six - Meltdown

Dean saw Stacy safely into her house, turned the truck around and headed back into town. It was not good news if vampires were in the area. He was hoping Sam and June were safely inside the diner. He told himself not to worry; Sam had training, he knew not to let in strangers. Then he remembered the diner was a public place and June would invite anyone in. A knot formed in his gut as his hands clenched around the steering wheel and he stepped on the gas.

The street was deserted like expected for the late hour so he parked right in front of the diner's door and got out. The lights were still on even though the sign said closed and there was no evidence of anyone inside. He figured they were probably in the back cursing him for being late; at least that's what his frantic heart hoped for. Everything looked normal, until he knocked on the door and it swung open. He told himself he was just being paranoid and to relax, but deep in his gut he knew Sam was in danger. He'd had that feeling before, when Sam fell and broke his arm at five. Somehow Dean knew his brother was hurt then. He was the one who found him and carried him inside. He had that same feeling now.

His heart was pounding as he ran to the back kitchen. As he pushed the door open, his hopes were crushed. Tony, the cook, was lying face down in a pool of blood and June was beside him, propped up against the cold tile wall. Two deep wounds in her neck were still bleeding, as her vacant, dead eyes stared out into space. He quickly glanced about the room but he couldn't see Sam. He stumbled back, his chest heaving as he tried to think. He felt torn in all directions; he stooped over, gasping for breath, trying to focus his thoughts. As he slowly rose, oxygen finally finding his lungs, his gaze was transfixed by the bloody mess smeared above June on the blue tile wall.

Scrawled in blood were the words: "Eye for an eye Winchester"

Terror seized his body. Was this payback for the vampire he'd killed? How could they know his name?

He cursed himself for leaving Sam alone and unprotected. His weakness foremost in his mind as he grappled with his failure and how he wished his dad was here to fix this mess.

Dean was consumed by guilt and panic was beginning to set in. He knew he had to act fast. He just didn't know what to do. Dammit, he needed his dad.

John had been driving for ten hours straight. He never wanted to leave his sons alone on Halloween, but the job had gotten out of control and he couldn't leave it half done. He pulled into town just past midnight and was shocked to see Dean's truck parked outside the diner. What was Dean thinking? He'd told him to be home by dark. He parked the Impala next to the truck and got out to check it out.

Dean left the diner and was startled to see his dad standing by his truck. His relief was immediately tempered by a foreboding dread. His emotions were raging out of control: guilt, panic, shame, sheer terror. How could he tell Dad how badly he had screwed up? How he knew that he shouldn't go to the carnival and leave Sam with June. How he'd been weak and let what he wanted dictate his actions. He knew better. Damn it! A soldier follows orders. How could he be such a selfish bastard?

His brother was gone, probably hurt or maybe even dead, and it was all his fault. His guilt was assaulting him with the bitter undeniable truth. How could he abandon everything he ever believed in for a night of foolish teenage fun?

As soon as John saw Dean, he knew something horrible had happened. His body language conveying his pain, withered and small, folding in on himself like he was in danger of disappearing, like he wished he could just melt away to escape the torment he was in. His son's face registering every terror imaginable, and when he locked eyes with his dad the haunted eyes and trembling lips battled against the set of his jaw as he desperately tried to hold himself together.

John had never before witnessed such terror in his son's eyes.

Dean had seen some frightening things in his young life, but he'd always shown amazing fortitude in the face of danger. John had been in awe of his older son's courage and resolve since the start. Whatever they had come across in their hunts, Dean had never wavered, demonstrating a bold fearlessness way beyond his years. John had given him extensive training and prepared him the best he could, but the fact was Dean seemed destined to be a hunter, and a damn good one. When the situation became most dire, Dean seemed to draw on some inner strength and calm, instinctively knowing how to persevere and triumph over anything they came across. This was so obviously different. He had never seen his son so distraught.

"What happened, Dean? Where's Sammy?"

"Dad, I'm sorry. I'm sorry… It's all my fault."

Dean's voice cracked and his eyes were glistening with tears, tears that his strong son would never allow to fall, John was sure of that.

John's voice automatically took on his drill sergeant tone, commanding as he demanded his son speak, "Dean, tell me what happened."

With that, the flood gates opened and Dean held back none of his guilt. He told his father everything that had happened up to that horrible, gut-wrenching moment when he realized his beloved brother was gone.

John's mind and gut both seemed to implode at once. Fury guided him as all reason left his body. With one lightning move his hand whipped out across Dean's face. The sound was deafening as his open palm connected with his son's cheek.

"HOW COULD YOU BE SO RECKLESS? I DEPENDED ON YOU. YOUR BROTHER DEPENDED ON YOU!" he shouted.

The cruel words spewed from his mouth before reason had a chance to seep back into his consciousness.

John froze. What just happened? Did he just strike his own son? Immediately his guilt surged and he tried to take back his anger, attempting in vain to set it right. The total devastation on his son's face shattering both their worlds.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It's okay. Sammy will be okay. We'll find him."

There were now two times in John's life he wished he could live over: the night Mary died and this night. How he wished he had not just struck his son. How he wished he'd come home before Dean left for the carnival. This wasn't Dean's fault, it was his. Why did he leave his sons to fight evil elsewhere? Why hadn't he seen that tonight evil was so close to home?

The blow was a total shock to Dean. His father had never before struck him. Dean had always been the perfect son, eager to please and totally obedient; there had never been any reason to discipline him. He was always so demanding on himself that his dad had never felt the need. The handprint on his face stung, but the real pain was deep within his heart. His trembling hand lingered over the red warming his cheek as he melted to the ground and couldn't hold back his tears, his body starting to convulse as he gasped for breath.

He'd thought he could not possibly ever feel worse than he did in that horrific moment when he realized Sam was gone, but he was wrong. The pain had escalated ten-fold when he saw his father's contempt for him.

His world was collapsing in on him and he was suffocating from the weight of this overwhelming pain, all the guilt and disgust he knew he deserved, the disappointment in his dad's eyes that he'd brought down on himself. He felt himself spiraling downward: his heart racing like a freight train thundering out of control and careening off the track, while the throbbing sounds bombarding his brain were threatening to drive him insane.

"Dean, it's okay. I'm sorry. We'll find Sammy. You and me, the Winchesters. It'll be okay. Dean look at me."

John's heart was breaking. His family was falling apart again. They had to pull themselves together if they were going to save Sam. He needed Dean's help to do that. Dean had been teetering on the edge and John with his unbridled anger had pushed him off the cliff. Somehow he needed to rebuild his son. John put his arms around him and held on. Dean was shaking uncontrollably, spasms racking his body, foreign tears soaking his pale face.

John kept whispering in his ear as he gripped him tight to his chest, "It's okay. I'm sorry. I need your help. Pull yourself together, son."

What seemed like an eternity was only a few minutes as John held his son. Dean's spasms began to ease and were replaced by controlled breathing. Dean was consciously thinking breathe: inhale, exhale, calm yourself down. The noises converging on his brain were turning back into words and he could finally comprehend what his dad was saying. He knew he had a job to do, and he would do it, he always did. His brother needed him, and he would be there for him. It was what his dad expected. What _he _expected.

He drew upon every ounce of courage he had ever possessed. He had once thought he understood fear. This feeling was more intense than anything he could have imagined. After his mom died, he'd been determined to be strong, focusing all his energy on being brave for her. He'd thought about it every single day since. This moment was the hardest test of his life. He had to pull himself together. He had to save his brother. That was his only option. Lock your pain away and do your job. His training was coming back into focus, a solid foundation to stand upon. He drew one last, deep breath and slowly exhaled.

"I'm all right, Dad. What's the plan?"


	7. The Plan

Chapter Seven – The Plan

After he took a moment to compose himself, Dean took his dad back into the kitchen to show him the vampires' work.

Spending time in that room, with the sight of June and the bloody cook, made Dean queasy. He gagged and almost threw up. He'd never gotten used to seeing people like this, especially people he knew. June had been a rare friend to him and he was responsible for her death. The guilt was numbing, would be downright overwhelming if he didn't need to focus on finding Sam; that was the only thing that mattered now.

John knelt by June's body and gently closed her eyes. She was a good woman. She didn't deserve to die like this. He promised himself he would make those bloodsuckers pay. He swore he would get his son back safely. He was not going to lose another member of his family. That much he knew.

Dean told his dad about the vampire he'd killed less than an hour before all this happened. What happened after, to June and the cook and Sam, he could only speculate.

"Dad, I don't know how they knew my name. How they knew Sam was here. It doesn't make sense."

John's voice was steady and sure. "Dean, you're not the Winchester this refers to. This message is for me."

Relief washed over Dean, followed by confusion. He was still responsible for Sam being in danger, he accepted that, but a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders if this bloody scene wasn't because of his actions with that fang.

"But who? Do you know?"

"Yeah, I've been tracking a large family of vampires. They know I've killed a bunch of 'em. They're looking for revenge."

John walked to the front counter and grabbed two seltzer bottles. He handed one to his son as he used the other to start spraying down the wall.

"Let's get this removed. No need alerting the police to our involvement. They won't be any help, and they could definitely be a hindrance."

Dean joined in; blasting the bloody words and watching them melt down the wall. The words dissolved until there was just a bloody smear remaining.

John was already focused on the next step. "We need to get our weapons in order. We'll need a lot of fire power to take down these vamps."

Dean followed his dad back to the car.

"Dad, what's the plan?"

John's voice was gruff and determined. "We find the evil bastards, we grab Sammy, and we kill 'em all."

Their eyes met and Dean simply nodded.

They got in the Impala and started cruising around town looking for suspicious activity. There was a looming silence that hung over them and filled the car with a palpable tension. They were each lost in their own thoughts and worries and neither wanted to put voice to the fears that imperiled their hearts. Dean hoped his dad could rectify his failure to protect his brother. John hoped leaving his sons alone this Halloween night would not turn into the biggest mistake of his life.

It was over two hours before they spotted a man dragging a woman into the dark recesses on Walnut Street. Coming up behind him, John quickly overpowered the vampire and held him with a stake hovering over his heart.

"Where's my son?"

"Winchester, that brat of yours tasted mighty fine," the fang taunted, his eyes flashing in defiance.

The vamp twisted out of John's hold by punching him in the gut and attempted his escape. With no hesitation, John staked him through the heart.

Dean jumped and it felt as if the stake had been plunged into his own heart.

"Dad?" His eyes pleaded, seeking out some comfort.

"Dean, Sammy's okay. They want to punish me. They'll want me to watch him die." He offered a half-smile and his eyes were clear and sure, instilling confidence like always. "He's still okay. We'll find him."

John hoped his logic wasn't flawed. He prayed his son was still alive.

They were near the warehouse district, a perfect hangout for these vampires. These fangs had a habit of setting up in warehouses like this, but there was too much area for the hunters to cover together before dawn, so they'd have to split up.

"Dean, be careful. If you see anything proceed with caution. These are some of the nastiest vamps I've come across and there are lots of them. Remember your training."


	8. Trap

Chapter Eight - Trap

Dean heard talking as he walked along the catwalk over the huge warehouse; he slowed and crept closer, abruptly stopping when he saw Sammy with the vampires below him. From the distance he could barely make out his brother's shape, but from the size and what the vamps were saying, he knew it was him. Those evil fangs were discussing which one would take the first bite. A shiver ran its course through his body and settled in his gut clenched tight, and he swore if they harmed his brother, they would all pay. He would kill them all.

Dean knew he couldn't wait for his dad, any delay kept the threat active, a heartbeat away from fruition. He couldn't risk them hurting Sam. With steely determination he pulled an arrow from his quiver and placed it in the crossbow. Taking on so many at once was going to be tricky. The crossbow was not an easy weapon to use. A long bow and arrow were generally a lot more accurate, but they also required using both hands at once; with experience you could handle a crossbow with one hand and he was glad he'd spent all those long hours perfecting his technique. He would need all the skill he could muster to overcome these vampires and save his brother. Sammy's life depended on him, and he would not fail him again.

He counted a total of six vampires. If he could drop some of them before the others realized their danger, then he had a chance at success. Luckily vampires don't make a lot of noise when they die, just a poof of dust. He watched and waited for his chance, if he could only get a few of them separated away from the rest.

Opportunity came when two of them got up and walked into the other room. From his perch on the catwalk he could get a shot at them. The problem would be getting two accurate shots off in quick succession before they could sound the alarm. He focused on staying cool and calm, relying on his training to steel his trembling nerves. His family was depending on him. He moved into position and knelt down. He laid two additional arrows by his feet, one extra for insurance. With steady hands he let loose the first arrow and before it met its target, he'd loaded the second arrow and was ready to fire again. As the first vampire dusted, the second arrow was spiraling toward its target, expertly finding its mark. They never knew what hit them as the dust cleared, only four more to go.

He needed to get down closer to their hideout so he threw the crossbow across his back and started down the ladder to the floor of the warehouse. As soon as he reached the floor, he pulled the crossbow back and loaded another arrow. Sam was sitting against the wall with his hands tied behind his back. His hair was tousled and he looked like he might have a few bruises, but all in all he looked unharmed and alert. Dean was relieved it didn't appear they had tried to feed on him yet.

He was looking for his next shot when suddenly a new vampire appeared behind him. He turned and fired. The vamp erupted in dust but in the melee the others were alerted to his presence. This was not going the way he planned. He rapidly reloaded and got one more, which left three. He tried to reload, but one of them was upon him, their inhuman speed too much for one lone hunter.

The vamp knocked the crossbow out of his hands and Dean scuffled with him as its fangs hovered over his neck. As he struggled to break free, the vamp's fangs scratched his neck, inching closer to bloody victory; with an adrenalin rush Dean used a martial arts move his dad had taught him to slip from the vamp's grasp. He reached into the quiver on his back and pulled out an arrow, forcefully plunging it into the vamp's heart. It's a lot easier with a bow, but it works either way, two more to go.

He turned and they were gone. He knew they wouldn't give up so easily and were still around somewhere, but he couldn't spot them. He ran for the crossbow and reloaded. He held it out in front of him and circled around looking. He had no idea which direction they would attack from, he just knew they would attack. He made his way over to Sam, pulled a hunting knife out of the sheath on his belt and cut his bindings.

"Dean, they killed June."

"I know, Sammy. You all right?" He ran his hand through his brother's hair, pushing his head from side to side to get a good look at him. The kid had some superficial scrapes and light bruising, but looked to be in basically good shape, not much worse off than his most brutal soccer game.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Stay behind me. We've got to get out of here."

They were headed for the door when suddenly one of the vampires swept over them and knocked Dean to the ground. He landed with a grunt and the crossbow went flying again. Dean jumped up and kicked the vamp in the gut as it lurched at him sending it crashing to the floor. He grabbed a stake out of his bag, jumped on the vamp before it had a chance to rise and staked him. Before he could regain his own footing, the last vampire grabbed him from behind. This fang was exceptionally strong and he ripped the bag of stakes and the quiver of arrows off of Dean's shoulder and threw them across the room. He picked Dean up like he was a rag doll, held him over his head in victory before throwing him forcefully to the concrete floor.

Dean landed hard, his chest taking the full force when he didn't have time to brace his fall, and had the wind knocked out of him. He laid there for a second simply trying to catch his breath; he knew his ribs had suffered major damage and any movement sent waves of pain shooting through his body. Whether bruised or cracked, they were hurting bad, making the simple act of breathing painful. As he stumbled to his feet, the vampire calmly waited to finish him off, taunting him with vile descriptions of how he would feast on all the Winchesters.

"The hell you will," Dean spat out.

Dean stood there defenseless with no weapons at his disposal as the fang approached; all he had to protect himself was his martial arts training, but you need to be able to really move to take advantage and he was hurt and this vamp was very experienced. He braced for the confrontation when suddenly the vampire disintegrated in a cloud of dust. As the dust dispersed there was Sam holding the crossbow.

His weary eyes sparked as pride in his kid brother reinvigorated him. A cocky smirk emerged on his lips. "Nice shot, bro. Now, what say we blow this joint?"

They headed toward the door again. Sam handed the crossbow back to Dean and he quickly reloaded and held it out in front of them. They had almost made it to the door when they heard a loud cackling. They turned to see the head vampire standing there.

"You don't really think it would be that easy do you?"

"Uh, yeah, we did," Dean retorted with a sneer. "It's not so hard besting you evil sons of bitches."

Suddenly, they were surrounded by vampires. It all had been an elaborate trap and now the fangs had two Winchesters.


	9. Rescue

Chapter Nine - Rescue

The situation looked desperate until Sam and Dean heard a familiar voice.

"You want me. Here I am."

John Winchester appeared through the door his boys had been heading for when they were stopped.

The head vampire greeted their guest with an invitation. "Winchester, which son do you want me to feed on first?"

"You're not feeding on either of my sons."

John reached behind his back and pulled forward a flamethrower. He ignited the gas and started mowing down all the vampires in his path. Fire was as good as sunlight in extinguishing a vampire. The fangs scurried to get out of his way as Dean and Sam hit the ground.

John certainly knew how to make an entrance.

He went past his sons and threw down a bag of stakes and another quiver of arrows. Sam grabbed a couple of stakes and Dean loaded the crossbow. These vampires were in for a fight, they were going up against the entire Winchester family. Dean began firing arrows and vamps started turning to dust. The odds were getting better every second for the Winchester boys.

John kept torching vamps until the flamethrower sputtered as it ran out of fuel and ceased working. After his massive burn, only a dozen or so vampires remained. Unfortunately, they were the most experienced and deadly hunters; they had earned their old age by being experts at surviving. Sam was too young and inexperienced to go up against these guys, even Dean was tested to the limits of his skills with these badass fiends.

"Sam, get back to the door and protect yourself," John yelled.

John pulled a crossbow from his back, loaded it and proceeded to take out some more bloodsuckers. Dean and he were starting to make progress in this battle. They were on opposite sides of the room, taking out every evil vamp they encountered.

Suddenly, Dean was surrounded by three powerful vampires at once. He tried to fire, but one of them knocked the crossbow out of his hands. He managed to stake one vamp, but the other two were on him before he could react, their speed and strength unbelievable. They threw his back up against the wall and he felt his ribs exploding again. The head vampire roared his delight as he picked up the crossbow, aimed it at Dean and fired. The arrow entered Dean's left shoulder and impaled him to the wall. The evil creature walked up to Dean laughing and taunting.

"How does it feel, hunter?"

He stood back and took his time lining up his next shot as Dean struggled to free himself.

The arrow had pierced his body and the head was securely embedded in the wall. He tried but he couldn't pull it out. He grimaced as he continued to struggle with all his might to break free. The pain was worse than anything he'd ever before experienced, but he focused on doing his job.

The vampire was enjoying the sight before him, the hunter helpless, wracked in agony, his face contorting every time he moved, waves of delicious pain shuddering through his young body. It would be so easy to finish him off, just like shooting ducks in a pond, but he savored the moment, the fear and the desperation.

Dean was trapped with no way to escape. He knew if he didn't act quickly he would be dead. The pain was excruciating but he forced himself to slide his shoulder forward on the arrow. His eyes were shedding a steady stream of tears as his face grimaced and he bared his teeth as a strangled moan slipped out, but his fierce determination accomplished the task at hand and he grabbed the shaft of the arrow protruding from his shoulder and held it as steady as he could. He used as much leverage as he could get to snap the arrow between his shoulder and the wall, falling to the ground as a scream was ripped from his lips and the next arrow whirled through the air striking above him where his heart had been.

John had seen his older son was in trouble and was coming to help. He deftly took out the two vampires that had thrown Dean against the wall, and was almost to his son. The head vampire was the last one standing between him and his son. Before John could reload and fire, the evil vamp picked Dean up off the floor and held him before him as a shield. He wrapped his arm around Dean's neck, threatening to snap it if John didn't lay down his weapon.

"Don't you do it, Dad. Dust him!" Dean yelled.

John didn't have the shot. He needed to pierce the vampire's heart and that shot was blocked by Dean's body. He had no other option but to lay down his weapon and pray that another opportunity would arise. He raised up his hands in a defenseless posture and surrendered to the will of this fang.

"Fool, Winchester. _That_ is why we will always win. Your loyalty to your family will be your undoing."

The evil vampire loosened his hold on Dean as he raised up the crossbow to fire at John. Dean used all his will and strength to break free of the vamp's grasp. He reached in his pocket for a sharpened pencil and using the weight of his own body jammed it into the chest of the vampire piercing his heart. The look of shock on the vamp's face was priceless before he exploded in a cloud of dust.

Dean grinned with satisfaction as he stumbled back against the wall.

"I guess size really doesn't matter," he quipped as he flashed a smirk that quickly turned into a monster grimace as the adrenaline eased and the pain surged back.

Sam and his dad both raced to his side as his feet gave way and he started to slide back down the wall.

"Hold on, Dean," John called out as he knelt before his son, his hand resting on his good shoulder.

"Dean?" Sam gasped as his brother's eyes closed; his body slumped in a heap on the floor. "DEAN?"

Dean's eyes slowly opened, focusing in on the concerned looks of his family. His voice was soft, but still held a hint of snark. "Tone it down, Sammy. I hear ya."

John was maneuvering him to where he could lift him and get him back on his feet. "Let's get you home and get that taken care of." He got Dean up, unsteady on his feet and Dean leaned into his dad's embrace, strong arms keeping him upright.

Dean's wound looked bad to Sam and he was worried.

"Dad, is he going to be all right?"

Dean didn't wait for his dad's response, offering his kid brother the best smirk he could muster as his eyes gazed upon his kid brother, glimmering with the victory the Winchesters had just accomplished.

"Sammy, don't you worry about me. I'm not gonna let no bloodsucker get the best of me."


	10. Injury

Chapter Ten – Injury

"Sam, get the whiskey and the first aid box. Put on some water to boil."

John helped Dean over to his bed and sat him on the edge. Sam brought the bottle and John broke the seal, twisted off the top and handed it to his son. Dean took a big gulp. It burned and his face contorted. He didn't like the taste, but if it alleviated any of his pain he'd drink it. John took Dean's hunting knife and cut back the end of the arrow that had splintered when Dean snapped it off. He then cut off Dean's t-shirt and laid him down.

"Dean, you know I'll need to cauterize this when I pull the arrow out."

"I was afraid you were going to say that." Dean tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace, his eyes betraying all the terror held tight.

"You think any ribs are broken?"

Dean shifted a little and pain shot through him. He couldn't decide what hurt worse his ribs or his shoulder, the truth was everything hurt. "Don't think so. They hurt like hell, but I think they're just cracked or bruised."

"Well, that's good news. I'll tape them later."

John left his son alone and went downstairs to the kitchen and pulled a smooth steel rod out of the cutlery drawer. It was about fifteen inches long and had a diameter just under a half inch. He took it over to the stove and called Sam over. He set the boiling water to the side and turned up the gas flame.

"Sam, keep this in the fire. I need at least ten inches sanitized. You'll need a pot holder to hold it."

Sam gave him one horrified look before he dutifully took hold of the steel rod.

John took the boiling water and some linens back up the stairs to Dean's bedside. He gently wiped the blood off of Dean's wound, front and back as best he could so he could get a better look at the injury. It was serious and in a perfect world he'd take his son to the hospital where he could have it taken care of properly, but bureaucracy didn't look kindly on the Winchesters and while it might prove dangerous, he at least needed to try to handle this on his own. Their world had proven far from perfect since the night Mary died and this was just one more instance where his sons suffered from the tragic trajectory of their lives since that fateful night.

Dean flinched and gritted his teeth, but no sound left his lips as his dad washed the wound. His eyes were wide as they followed every move John made, a stoic look of determination slowly building on his face, his jaw set and his brows furrowed as he tensed, concentrating on holding it together.

"Dean, I'm going to tie you down. I don't know how soon you'll pass out and I can't have you moving when I do this."

Dean nodded, his mouth opening as he started to pant, one more means to control his growing dread.

John went to the dresser drawer and took out a leather glove. He placed it on his son's right hand as Dean intently watched, his fingers flexing into a fist as the glove slid on and his dad tied the rope over the leather at the wrist. He then secured his wrist to the headboard. John then tied rope over his jeans at the ankles, pulling his body down until he was stretched taut on the bed before securing each leg as tight as possible to each side of the footboard.

John stood back to assess the sight before him and his gut seized, he'd immobilized his son the best he could and while it may have appeared barbaric, he told himself it was the best he could do. Once he started to cauterize the wound Dean would be plunged into a delirium of pain and agony and wouldn't be able to control his actions; this was the only way to insure he didn't cause himself further harm.

John left his son there, spread-eagle on the bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting while he went back to the kitchen to check on Sam's progress.

"It's almost ready. Sam, you're going to have to hold down Dean's left arm. I don't want to put any more pressure on that hurt shoulder by tying it off. Just use all your weight and keep him as still as possible. Son, can you do that?"

Sam blinked back his tears, the reality here and now with no escape.

John insistently repeated, "Sam, can you do that?"

Sam looked up and nodded, his own determination building. "Yes, sir."

"All right then, bring the rod when I tell you."

He returned to his older son, lifted his head and gave him another long shot of whiskey. It wasn't going to help much with this pain, but it was all he could offer him. "Dean, you ready?"

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, just a second to blank out what was about to happen. He opened his eyes and squinted into the overhead light, his eyes finding his dad's and forging a connection. "Yeah, Dad." He took a deep breath and released it, finding his courage and trying to put his dad at ease, as if that were possible. "Dad?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"I'm gonna have a cool scar, right?" His dad's bottom lip trembled then and the sight caused him to lose it, his own tears breaking free as he witnessed how devastated his dad was, knowing this whole mess was his fault and wishing he'd only followed his orders like a real soldier would have.

John grabbed hold of his right shoulder at the juncture with his neck and offered a comforting massage. He cleared his throat and in a gruff voice called out, "Sam, we're ready. Bring the rod."

Sam raced up the stairs with the rod and swiftly took his position beside his brother.

John placed a leather strap in Dean's mouth.

"Bite down on this. This will all be over soon, son."

Dean knew this was going to hurt like hell. He'd gotten a bad gash on his leg when he was twelve. His dad had cauterized that, and the pain was exactly what you would imagine a red hot poker burning raw flesh would feel like, but that had been a quick flash of pain on a three inch gash, hardly as intense as this promised to be. Still, he knew that although this would seem totally unbearable now, his memory of this agony would fade somewhat with time. He just wished it was a later time, and he only had to deal with the memory.

John placed his left hand firmly upon his son's chest to hold him down while his right grabbed the shaft of the arrow and quickly pulled it out. Dean lurched upward as blood started to spurt and John thrust the hot steel rod in to seal the wound.

Sam winced as the hot metal entered the wound. His gut tightened at the agony he saw in the eyes of his brother as his dad steadily pushed the rod into Dean's shoulder. The smell of burning flesh was nauseating. Dean's body tensed and thrashed against his bindings as muffled screams escaped from his clenched mouth. Sam prayed Dean would pass out soon, but he held on, his eyes flashing total anguish as his face contorted from his misery. Sweat beaded on his brow and the veins in his neck stood out as he twisted and strained from the intense agony his body was being subjected to.

John continued to push the rod through his shoulder until it came out the back and then he held it there, the flesh sizzling as Dean continued to fight the bindings, his left hand gripping at his brother holding him down, his fingers digging in as his chest heaved in a panic before giving one final thrust and then stilling, his eyes rolling back in his head as he fell unconscious. When it appeared the bleeding had stopped John eased the rod back out of his son's limp body. He'd done what needed to be done to burn out any debris to lesson the chance of infection.

Dean had remained conscious for longer than any of them had imagined possible. Mercifully, his body had finally relaxed and he'd drifted into oblivion. John carefully cleaned the wound, front and back, tenderly applying an antiseptic cream and dressing it with bandages. Gently arranging them just so, carefully taping the bandages in place and smoothing the edges. His hands constantly on his son, as if his touch could ease the pain he'd brought. Or perhaps to reassure himself that the chest was still rising, the heart still beating, his son's breath still entering and exiting his lungs, even as he lay silent and stricken, pale as death itself.

John had gotten medical field training in the marines. After he took up his vendetta against evil, he'd studied up on emergency medical care. They didn't have actual medical insurance, and the fake insurance cards were strictly for true emergencies, things he couldn't treat. Besides, certain injuries were bound to raise questions, so as much as possible he'd handled all of the boys' injuries over the years.

This had been the worst. The worst thing imaginable for any father is to see your son in pain, but to be the one inflicting that pain by pushing a red hot rod through your own son's body is unconscionable. He was a soldier faced with the horrors of war and he did what needed to be done. He prayed his son would be all right. He didn't believe in God, hadn't since that night, but for the memory of his Mary and to honor her belief in angels, and just because he had nothing else to hold on to, he prayed. He took the top off of the whiskey bottle and took a long swallow.

Sam was intently watching him, nervously standing by waiting.

It was going to be a long wait.

John gave him a casual comment, all he could think of to say.

"I'll need to rustle up some antibiotics for him. I'll go out in a bit."

Sam nodded, seemingly oblivious as his eye focused on his brother's still form.

John sat down in the chair by his son's bedside and watched him sleep. He needed a minute to still his nerves. His hand trembled as he took another shot of whiskey straight from the bottle.

He hadn't been sitting long when there was a knock at the door, which was precisely what the Winchesters didn't need. John was in no mood for nosy neighbors. He was tempted to not answer, but that might draw more suspicion since the car was parked in the driveway.

"Sam, stay with your brother."

He wearily walked down the stairs and opened the front door to find a pretty, blond, teenage girl.

"Hi! I'm Stacy Wheaton, Dean's friend. Are you his dad? Is Dean home?"

This girl was too perky for his mood and the hour of the morning, the sun had barely risen. "Hi, Stacy. Yeah, I'm his dad. Look, this is a bad time. Dean can't come to the door now."

"Well, would you just tell him thanks for me?" She smiled then, bright and cheery and it was almost too much happiness for John to handle right now. "I don't know if he told you, but he saved my life last night."

That comment got John's attention and he was instantly curious about this girl and his son, but for now, he just needed her to leave. There would be time enough later, after Dean healed to hear his version of this story. He distractedly turned away as he heard Sam calling to him from the bedroom doorway.

"Dad, can you come here?"

He offered her the best attempt at a smile he could muster as he excused himself. "Stacy, I need to go. I'll tell Dean you stopped by."

He closed the door and returned to the bedroom.

Sam was excited as he explained to his dad, "Dad, her father's a doctor. Maybe she can get us the antibiotics?"

"We can't trust her. How long has Dean known her? We can't risk her going to the authorities," John gruffly replied, never one to trust an outsider.

"She said Dean saved her life, so she kinda owes him. I really think we can trust her. It's not like we're gonna ask her for illegal drugs or something. Let me ask. Please? I know she'll do it for Dean."

John looked to his unconscious son, the weariness of the night and his worry combined with the insistence of his youngest and he reluctantly nodded.

Sam rushed out the front door and caught Stacy as she was getting in her car. He wasn't bad with a story either, he may have been young and he didn't have as much practice as Dean, but he had those puppy dog eyes that just screamed out in sincerity. How could Stacy not believe his lies? Somehow he convinced her to bring them a two week supply of antibiotics.

John never asked what he said to get Stacy to bring them; he simply accepted it as a gift from the gods and was relieved Dean had the medicine he needed.

Dean slept fitfully for the rest of the day and into the night. He developed a fever which John checked every hour. If his fever got too high or was sustained for more than a few days, they would have to seek professional care. John hoped that wouldn't be necessary. He wanted the best possible care for his son, but he also didn't want to risk losing custody of both his sons. As mature as Dean was, he was still a minor. John had that damn history with CPS, any more incidents, and they might try to permanently take his sons away from him. He would never let that happen, but he also didn't want to go on the run if it wasn't necessary.

Sam brought in his sleeping bag and laid it on the floor at the foot of Dean's bed as night fell. He wanted to be as close to his brother as possible. When he woke during the night, he wanted to be able to hear his brother breathing, to know he was right there and would still be there in the morning.

John sat in the chair next to Dean's bed all that day and night. Sam thought he was just like Atticus in that old movie Dean liked, To Kill a Mockingbird. John kept vigil over his son: checking his temperature, wiping his brow. It would have been just like the movie, if he didn't have the whiskey bottle on the night stand. By morning the bottle was half full.


	11. Confessions & Recovery

Chapter Eleven – Confessions and Recovery

Dean was unconscious for almost three days. His fever spiked the second day and he became delirious. He started to talk and Sam thought he was coming to, only to realize he was talking to Mom. It was unnerving to have Dean conversing with his mom on the anniversary of her death. Sam prayed that if he truly was communicating with her, she'd tell him to come back to the living, that it wasn't yet his time to join her. Dad became more concerned as his fever persisted. Sam had never seen him so worried and that made Sam worry even more than he already was. They bought bags of ice at the convenience store and placed them around his body and it took almost four hours but his fever finally came back down.

Sam sat by his brother's bed listening to his shallow, rhythmic breathing. Dean had lost a lot of blood and looked so pale and weak. Sam had never seen him so frail and quiet, so not like Dean, and the thought of losing his brother made him shudder in terror; he simply couldn't imagine life without his big brother. Dean was more than a brother; he was his protector, his best friend. He'd been to more conferences with Sam's teachers than his dad ever had. Dad had become increasingly absent as he focused more and more on his hunts. Dean was the one cooking him breakfast and taking him to school. Dean was the one he depended on. He _had _to get better. He was too strong to let an evil vampire best him.

Dean finally woke around noon on the third day.

"Why aren't you in school?" His voice was scratchy and soft, barely there.

Sam startled at the sound and looked up to find Dean hazily looking at him, his eyes clouded and unfocused but he was awake and talking. "Dean, you're awake! How do you feel?"

He moaned as he shifted on the bed, his mouth smacking as he tried to wet his chapped lips.

Sam grabbed a glass of water off the nightstand and offered it to his brother.

Dean sipped the water as Sam helped him sit up enough to drink, his throat working the liquid down to ease the parched feeling. He eased back to rest and Sam repeated his question.

"Dean, how do you feel?"

His tongue felt heavy and his lips still hesitated to move, but he mumbled out a response. "Like I've been run over by a Mack truck, and then the bitch backed up just to make sure he got me."

"I was so worried, Dean." Sam's smile filled out his face, the light back in his eyes as he tenderly revealed his worries. "I always thought you were invincible. You really scared me."

"Hey, Sammy," Dean soothed in a soft voice, his lips slowly rising up in a tender smile, almost too tired, but exerting the effort for his brother. "Remember? I'm superbro. Ain't no evil gonna get me."

It didn't take long before Dean's eyes fluttered closed and he drifted off again. Sam relaxed a little; he now knew his brother would be all right. Still, he stayed close by his bedside.

Later that night, John was checking Dean's bandages when he opened his eyes again. Sam was sound asleep on the floor by the bed.

"Hey, Dad. I gonna live?"

"Yeah, Dean. You're gonna live." John's eyes were soft, filled with a light misting of tears, his voice rough from too much whiskey and worry. He offered him a slight smile, his dimples relaying the relief that his son was awake. "You gave us quite a scare there, kiddo."

Dean looked at his dad, eyes brimming with sadness and regret, his voice cracking as he forced the words out. He needed to face up to his mistake, bare his guilt and accept the responsibility; it was what was expected of a Winchester.

"Dad, I'm sorry for not following orders. I really messed up."

John seemed to be considering what to say, as Dean searched his dad's face for some sign of forgiveness. When the silence seemed totally overbearing, John finally spoke.

"Dean, I know I'm hard on you and Sammy, but there's a reason. There's so much danger out there." The tears continued to build as his voice trembled, finding it difficult to say what he wanted to say… what Dean needed to hear. He finally just looked straight into his son's eyes and continued down the path. "I'm sorry you can't have a normal life and you had to grow up so fast. I just need you to understand… how _important_ our job is… the _responsibility_ we have."

"I do, Dad," Dean choked out, "I do."

"Dean, we don't have the luxury of making mistakes. If we make a wrong decision, someone could die." John said it straight, man to man.

"I know, Dad." Dean seemed to set his jaw firmer, his eyes taking on a deeper intensity, his voice firm and steady. "It won't happen again."

Dean knew how serious his lapse had been; he could have been responsible for his brother's death. Sam could have died… _Sam could have died_… and it would have been his fault… _my fault_. That was a mistake he could not forget or would _ever_ forgive. His dad was not telling him anything he hadn't already told himself.

Since he'd already taken the first step, Dean had one more burden he needed to confess. He hesitated before he continued; trying to find the strength to proceed, not wanting to disappoint his dad, but unwilling to hide his fears any longer. His voice trembled from what he needed to say and how hard it was to control his surging emotions.

"Dad, I was so scared. Just the thought of losing Sammy had me terrified." He maintained eye contact, never lowering his gaze as he revealed his secret. His voice cracked as he was overcome. "I'm sorry I disappointed you."

Try as he may to maintain that fierce soldier resolve, the cracks appeared, Dean's eyes revealing his pain and worry, his shame flickering across his face and battering the strong façade.

John was surprised by how vulnerable his son appeared. For an instant, John saw a teenager lying before him, not the soldier he'd molded since Mary's death. John had demanded as much from Dean as he would any soldier in the field, and his son had responded well beyond his years. At fifteen, Dean had faced more than most men would face in a lifetime. He was stronger than he could possibly imagine and had no cause to doubt his courage. John was unsure what to say, but he suddenly realized he needed to say something to reassure this boy that was his son.

"Dean, I am _not _disappointed in you. Don't you _ever_ question your bravery. You are as courageous as any man I have ever known. Every soldier that's ever done anything heroic was scared. You'd be a fool not to be scared facing the things we face. Real courage is doing what needs to be done in spite of that fear. You _did_ that. You _saved_ your brother."

John put his hand on Dean's good shoulder and gave a slight squeeze.

"I'm proud of you, son."

The words washed over him and Dean didn't know how to respond, his dad so uncharacteristic, so understanding. He knew he would never forget this moment and he was determined to never again disappoint his dad. He was determined to never again feel the shame and guilt he felt when he let his brother down.

The heavy emotion of the moment was cast aside as Sam stirred and rose to check on his brother. Sam was pleased to see there was a bit more color in Dean's face, but more importantly, his eyes seemed alive again, vibrant and clear. Finally it was Sam's turn to take care of his brother.

"About time you woke up. Think you can drink some broth?"

Dean squinted his eyes as he pondered the thought, his mouth quirking as he answered, "Yeah, maybe. Stomach does feel kinda empty."

Sam went to the kitchen to heat up some chicken broth for his brother. He knew this was a good sign. Dean would be well soon.

Dean got a little stronger every day. He progressed from chicken broth and Jell-O to ground beef and rice. After only a few days he protested he could eat something more substantial, but Dad ran his recovery and set the menu. As his strength returned, John had him up and walking around the bedroom for a little longer every day. He'd been laid up in bed for so long he didn't know what day it was, let alone the date so he was shocked when one morning the door to his room opened and Dad appeared carrying a cake with sixteen blazing candles on it. Sam was right beside him, smiling like he'd won the lottery.

"Happy Birthday, son."

Dean was stunned. His last birthday cake had been at three. They never celebrated birthdays, especially his since it was exactly two weeks after Mom's death. She'd been planning a party for his fourth birthday, a party that never happened. They always said Dean was four when his mom died; actually, he was two weeks shy of four. As a child, he'd been so excited about his birthday; he'd been telling everyone that he was four and his parents didn't want to dampen his enthusiasm so they just let it go.

His whole life changed in an instant once his mom died. He never again looked forward to his birthday; from that point on it was just another reminder of Mom being gone.

Taken back by the mini-celebration, Dean protested, "Dad, we don't celebrate birthdays."

"Yeah, I know, but we are celebrating this one. Sammy's home safe and Dean, today I consider you a man."

"Aren't you going to blow out your candles?" Sam piped up.

Dean took as deep a breath as his still sore ribs would allow and almost managed to get them all. Sam blew out the last one as Dean's breath failed him.

"Think you can get out of that bed and come see your present?" Dad asked.

"Present? You got me a present?" Dean couldn't control his joyful thoughts; he couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten any type of a present. "I hope you got the store to wrap it, 'cause if you or Sammy wrapped it, I don't think I have the strength to get past all the tape to get it open."

Dean eased out of bed and sat on the edge. With Sam close by his side, Dean slowly walked across the bedroom like he'd been doing the last few days. It still winded him but it felt good to be up and walking around. He knew he was still weak, but definitely on the mend, every day he was a little stronger. He wouldn't be able to use his injuries as an excuse for avoiding work for long. Sam's sympathy and gratefulness would only last a short time and he'd be expected to be back on his chores.

His dad led the way, down the stairs, and to the front door. The stairs were the most problematic, demanding more energy than the small walks in his room had required. It took him some time, but when Dean got there, Dad positioned him right in front of the door and opened it. No one had wrapped his present. It sat in the front yard with a giant red bow on the roof. The most beautiful present Dean could ever imagine: his dad's sleek, black '67 Impala.

Dean stared in awe, speechless for a moment.

"Sammy spent a whole day washing and waxing her for you."

The grin that emerged on Dean's face said it all.

"I can't believe it." He looked to his dad, his face filled with a million questions. "But Dad, you love this car."

"Yeah, but you love her too. She's all yours." John beamed with pride and love and his own list of emotions. He nodded toward the car. "Come see the special feature I set up for you."

John moved out to the black, shiny beast and popped the trunk. He lifted up an inner lid to reveal the most extensive arsenal of weapons and evil fighting paraphernalia that Dean had ever seen.

"Everything you could possibly ever need to fight evil," John announced. "I want my boys to be prepared."

As Dean perused the assortment of weapons, a sly grin spread across his face.

"Thanks, Dad." His cocky attitude was in full force as he joked, "You want us prepared… What? Like boy scouts? They got a merit badge for fighting evil?"

Dean walked along the side of the car, steadying himself against the solid frame, until he got to the driver's door. The door offered its familiar creak as he opened it and eased into the driver's seat. Sammy ran around and jumped in the passenger's side, putting the brothers side by side in the front seat. It felt right.

Today was a good day… a _very_ good day. His dad was home and his little brother was safe beside him, and now he had the coolest car in town. He shifted to reach the radio knob to turn on some Metallica, and a pain shot down from his shoulder. A slight grimace crossed his face and Sammy looked on with concern.

"Dean, I'm sorry you got hurt saving me. You're gonna have a nasty scar."

Dean's eyes glistened and he smiled, a slow, sly smirk turning up the corner of his mouth. His low voice purred as he responded, "Don't worry about it, Sammy. Chicks dig scars."

The End

bjxmas

February, 2006

All standard disclaimers apply.

_I wrote this story before the episode, The Benders, aired that revealed Dean's birthday as Jan. 24. I also wrote it before Dead Man's Blood so my Winchesters obviously didn't think vampires were extinct. In addition, the vampires in this story are from the Buffy verse, where wooden stakes and fire are valid means of killing them. Kripke, you need to keep me better informed in the future, okay?_


End file.
